We’re in Norfolk.
No, I mean…who is Otto? Does he have a last name? Is he the president or something?
Oh, that Otto. That Otto doesn’t exist.
So why are you named Otto?
It really is an incredibly curious story. It was 1999. Mark and Joe were traveling on the Orient Express, worn out and tired and wishing they were home instead of somewhere in the middle of Hungary. They’d forgotten to eat dinner, and Joe only had a little bit of strange Turkish cheese left over from lunch. Mark refused to touch it. Joe thought being hungry in Hungary was pretty funny—until he realized the dining car was closed. Then his stomach began tightening into little knots.
And that, my friend, is when Otto appeared. He was small in stature, but he made up for it with pure presence. He asked if he could sit with them in their train compartment, where they sat watching the darkness slide by. He proceeded to tell hilarious stories about gnomes and ice cream cones, though neither Mark nor Joe can remember the details now. They wanted Otto to stop talking about ice cream. But Otto didn’t. Instead, he began talking about the midnight snack he had made—the one that was sitting right in his bag. Would Joe and Mark like some sausage? Some bread? Some mustard? Perhaps some cheese that didn’t smell quite so funky?
Yes, Mark and Joe would like. And at that moment, they told Otto they would always remember him, that they would honor him by naming their ad agency after him. Because he was kind and generous and clearly interested in customer service.
Wow. That’s quite a story.
Yep.
Is it true?
Well, it’s a lot better than saying that Mark and Joe came up with it in a bar, simply because they liked the whole palindrome thing and thought the name Otto would look good in type.
Oh.
